Or at least; as fertile as a girl with stage IV endometriosis and 2 failed IVF cycles under her belt can get.
But the point is; I am absolutely ovulating.
And that simple fact has pained me.
It’s the first time I’ve ovulated since surgery. Probably the only time I’ve ever ovulated when I haven’t also had a body full of endometriosis. For the most part, everything in there is actually clean and healthy and disease free. For once; disease free. One could argue that right now, today, in this moment; it’s the best possible opportunity for me to get pregnant on my own.
You know, if I were still holding out hope for that kind of thing.
Here are the facts: I have one tube. So that right there already cuts the chances of a natural pregnancy in half.
That one tube is pretty good and scarred down, but it still allows for fluid to travel through it. The biggest concern with that tube would be ectopic pregnancies, since it’s not exactly a smooth road for an embryo to travel through. But it’s there. Viable. Functional. Whole. At least… kind of.
Unfortunately, that one tube is on the side of the ovary that's been the most damaged by this disease. The ovary that on each and every one of my ultrasounds, the tech struggles to even find. The one that rarely has follicles, and was slow to produce even on the crazy onslaught of hormones involved in IVF.
The last time I was brave enough to ask for percentages, I was told that the chances of my ever getting pregnant on my own were less than 5%. Basically, we’re looking at the same odds as someone getting pregnant while on the pill or using a condom. I am my very own personal brand of birth control. Built right in. Permanent, and unrelenting.
Yet here I am, wishing I was a whore. Knowing that there is no man in my life at the moment, and not caring. Wishing I could go out, show some leg, and just pick one up to get the deed done. To give that egg currently being released at least a fighting chance.
Which is funny, because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even be allowed to get down and dirty right now anyway. I didn’t actually ask how long I would have to be off sex after surgery (mostly because there is no sex to be found in my life at the moment) so I have no idea how long I should be waiting. But I figured it was a mute point, because by the time I meet a guy worthy of getting acquainted with in that way again… surely I’ll be healed! Only 2 weeks after surgery though, and while my incisions and ovaries are still a bit achy? I’m pretty sure that doing the naughty would not be advisable.
Yet here I am, still wishing I was a whore. Wishing I could convince myself to have a few drinks and see what I get. To dial the numbers of boyfriends past and see who’s up for a little game of baby making roulette.
I would be honest with them of course. Tell them why I’m using them and what I’m hoping to accomplish. I think most the men in my life would take me up on that offer though. They’re a group full of gamblers I tell you. And with odds like that – they would take the bet.
And meanwhile, I would be hoping, wishing, and praying for the scales to tip in my favor. Legs in the air asking for forgiveness for my momentary whore-dom. Hoping that there's an exception for slutty behavior when it comes to girls who just don’t want to waste a chance.
The other option would be stockpiling a supply of donor sperm in my freezer. Then once or twice a month, I could just turkey baster the stuff up there myself at the first hint of ovulation. Taking matters into my own hands so to speak. At least then I wouldn’t feel like I was blowing off a chance every single month when the tell tale signs appear.
Do you think that would work? Do people do that? Keep sperm in their freezer next to the chicken breasts and ice cream? Thaw it out themselves and use cooking utensils to blast it into the lady bits?
Is it even normal to think this way? To contemplate inseminating myself month after month, just so that I could feel like I had tried?
And how exactly would I explain sperm in the kitchen to potential suitors?
"Welcome to my kitchen. Please excuse the sperm. Hopefully with you here now, it will no longer be necessary."
It’s silly. Silly, and ridiculous, and ultimately; useless. With odds as low as I’ve got, whoring myself out really wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would spending thousands upon thousands of dollars to store sperm in my freezer. I don't have the funds to waste on any more of that stuff, even if it is liquid gold. In the end, it would all likely be fruitless. And then I would just wind up feeling like a failure. Month after month of failure.
And who needs that?
But the truth is, I’m sad. Sad that I’m not in the position to do anything at all about my ovulation, and sadder still that even if I could; it likely wouldn't matter.
I try to convince myself every day that I am going to be just fine if I can’t ever get pregnant. That I will survive and thrive. That I will be happy and strong and fulfilled no matter what.
I try to convince myself that none of this really matters.
But the truth is – I want to be pregnant. I want to be a mommy. I want to not be wasting chances.
And I kind of wish I was more of a whore.
